


Dark is a Way and Light is a Place

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Backstory, Episode Tag, First Lines Challenge, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a light bulb that's gone out just overhead, so Ray's in shadow, and that works for him, because the guest book is gonna read like the Wanted list tacked up next to his desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark is a Way and Light is a Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sageness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/gifts).



 

_Dark is a way and light is a place,  
Heaven that never was  
Nor will be ever is always true—Dylan Thomas_

 

Ray stands in the back, in the dark, where he knows he can’t be seen from up front. There’s a light bulb that’s gone out just overhead, so Ray’s in shadow, and that works for him, because the guest book is gonna read like the Wanted list tacked up next to his desk. He’s not calling for a paddy wagon, though, because he doesn’t have enough on most of these guys to hold them for anything that carries serious jail time. Yet. Anyway, that’s not what he’s here for.

 

There’s a fair chance nobody will recognize him. This place is far enough from the 27th that anybody here who’s been brought in has probably been processed at a different station. One or two might’ve seen Ray back at the 18th, maybe, when Ray was still himself, but Ray’s got to chance it.

 

So even though it’s not totally safe, he’s here, he’s hopped up on two enormous cups of coffee, and he’s got his guns where he can get at them fast.

 

Ray’s not signing the book. He’s not even going to step out of the shadows. He pulled his shirt halfway out of his pants, messed up his hair, and didn’t shave. He hasn’t slept much in two days, just a couple naps at the Consulate, and he hasn’t even been back to his apartment for fresh clothes; he’s still wearing Fraser’s, with his ratty trench coat on top. He hopes he looks like a criminal among criminals, or at least maybe an addict who bought from Volpe, a guy hyped on something more than java, starting to sweat and shake, but having a human moment before the addiction drives the decent thoughts out of his head. Staying in the back because he’s here to pay respects, nothing more. Don’t need no trouble, don’t want nobody looking in my bloodshot eyes.

 

Someone at the front of the room is weeping. It’s not Volpe’s family; he has no goddamn family, or at least none that will admit to it. He’s from the South Side, but his folks left, moved somewhere, maybe Arizona, for all Ray knows.

 

They’re from India originally, from this place where a lot of Indians have Portuguese names on account of it was a colony or something. And their name isn’t Volpe. It’s Raposa, which Volpe said is Portuguese for Fox. Suited Volpe real well. Andreas knew his parents didn’t want his shady business done in their name and he respected that. So when he first set up shop dealing drugs, he translated his name into Italian and he was still a fox.

 

In more ways than one.

 

The hairs on the back of Ray’s neck stand up all of a sudden, and he knows there’s someone behind him, standing a little too close. Ray twitches a little. He tenses. He doesn’t turn around. The presence comes closer, way too close now to be random. It’s possible not everybody in Volpe’s gang got the message that Ray didn’t do it.

 

No false moves, he tells himself. Turn around slow. Casual. Don’t let them see you reach for your gun.

 

He gets ready to turn, and then he realizes he can feel the warmth, hear the breathing. And he relaxes. He knows that breathing, he knows that warmth.

 

“Fraser,” he says under his breath.

 

“Yes, Ray.” Fraser’s voice is right in his ear. No one up front will notice them at all, he figures. As long as Fraser left the red uniform behind.

 

Ray shifts, turns his head just enough. Yeah, he can see Fraser’s untied hiking boots. Good.

 

He lifts an eyebrow at Fraser, real quick, just enough to ask him what the hell he’s doing here.

 

“Partners, Ray,” Fraser says.

 

“This ain’t official, Fraser.”

 

“I know.”

 

Ray can’t ask him what the hell he means by that, not right now. But there is no way Fraser knows.

 

Fraser’s hand is on his shoulder all of a sudden. Not heavy like he’s trying to pull Ray out of there, just…there. He squeezes Ray’s shoulder gently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ray.”

 

“I know that. I _know_ that, Fraser.”

 

Volpe was a psycho, but weirdly enough, he was also too trusting, and he would’ve got whacked sooner or later anyway, because even while he was trying to be a crime boss, running guns and drugs and even a cathouse on the South Side, he was playing both sides of the fence. Which he did that a lot.

 

Ray knows now that Volpe was passing info from Justice to the likes of Herndorff and Filion, then passing it back from them to the cops, cleaning up because both sides were paying him. And both sides were playing him. The guy didn’t know when to quit yakking.

 

Except he didn’t yak about everything. Ray knows he didn’t. He called Ray “Vecchio” even though he first met him before the Vecchio gig, and Ray knows his cover hasn’t been blown.

 

Ray also knows Volpe never spilled about how he and Ray met.

 

When Ray once tried to talk him into going straight.

 

So to speak.

 

And yeah, Volpe wouldn’t give in on that, and, yeah, Ray wanted to arrest him, shut down his operations, get him out of there. But he didn’t want him dead.

 

Ray never trusted Volpe as far as he could throw him, and he knew Volpe had a bad streak, but he had another side to him, too, and when Ray got close enough to him in the alley to see his eyes, Ray remembered lots of things about Volpe’s other side. His eyes were soft. Intelligent. Interested. And his lips, they were really, really soft.

 

When Volpe searched him for a wire and felt him up at the same time, Ray gave him a little smile, let him know he remembered.

 

It’s kind of surreal how Cahill chose Ray to frame for this. Maybe that was Kilrea’s idea, because he never liked Ray, or maybe it wasn’t personal at all. Maybe they just looked for the detective with the highest solve rate in Area 7—which that is Ray—or they looked for the biggest smartass in the district—that’s Ray, too—and that’s who they went after. All because Cahill was such a slimy bastard that he’d never get elected otherwise. Or maybe it was just that Ray was cleaning up the streets one gang at a time, and he was getting too close to Cahill’s and Kilrea’s cozy little arrangement.

 

But it wasn’t because they knew anything.

 

Ray figures they don’t know, because they would’ve brought it up when they tried to frame him, it would’ve given Ray motive. Hell, they could’ve had a field day with dirt like that, a cop with a rep for being a smartass and a glue-huffing maniac who ratted on other gangsters.

 

Fraser slides his hand off Ray’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move away, not an inch. Ray can still feel Fraser’s heat along the length of his spine, like a reminder that Fraser has his back. Which Ray knows that. After this weekend, God, he knows. Even when Fraser put cuffs on him, he knew. Didn’t fight him, just looked at the cuffs like they were another exhibit in the evidence locker of Fraser’s freakiness.

 

People are shuffling around up there, near the casket, and starting to talk. Someone laughs softly. It’s no different than most wakes. There’s crying; there’s smiling, too. There’s _feeling,_ and it comes out lots of different ways. The guy meant something to somebody. Psycho and all, he had a community, and maybe it’s a community of losers and freaks and predators, and half of them are guys Ray wants to put in jail, but it is what it is, and they’re people, too.

 

Ray must be pretty crazy himself to be thinking stuff like this. He’s gotta cut it out, because tomorrow he’s got to be on top of his game again, putting the fear of jail into these people, scaring them straight if he can, hauling their asses in if he can’t.

 

As for tonight, Ray figures he’s been sticking his skinny neck out long enough. No point in risking Fraser’s too, not for a dead man who wouldn’t listen to Ray even to save his _own _neck.

 

Ray glances up at the casket from his place in the back. He doesn’t even open his coat to fumble his glasses on, but somehow his vision’s clear. He can see Andreas’ dark profile from here, his eyes closed like he’s sleeping, like he’s peaceful. His lips don’t look soft any more. Ray knows they wire them, usually, to give them a more normal expression, but of course the funeral director didn’t know Andreas, couldn’t sculpt the ironic curve of that mouth, the sexy curl of his lip. Maybe there was no photograph that showed that side of him, the side Ray once knew.

 

Shit. Ray’s got to pull the brake on this train of thought. Andreas isn’t here. It’s over, case closed. Bury it.

 

He turns to go. Fraser follows him out quietly for once. The car’s parked four blocks away; Ray’s not stupid.

 

So they walk, their breath fogging in the chilly night air. There’s no sound but their footfalls on the pavement and the city in the background. He doesn’t talk till they’re sliding into the car and he’s starting it up, putting it into gear, and pulling out into the street, with a routine glance in the rearview mirror to make sure no one’s following.

 

“So how’d you find me? You track me like a musk-ox?”

 

“No, Ray. I looked in the paper, in the obituary notices. The funeral home was listed.”

 

“Huh. So gangsters do that, too? Yeah, okay, I know they do, they put the notice in just like for anybody else. What’s it say, ‘In lieu of flowers, please donate to the little-criminals’ home?’”

 

“No. Just the notice.”

 

“How did you know? I know I didn’t leave the paper out on my bar ’cause I haven’t been home.”

 

Fraser sighs. “I didn’t ‘invade your castle’ again, Ray. I bought a paper on the street outside the Consulate.”

 

Ray glances at him. Fraser has that expression on, that look like he wants to make Ray feel better but he doesn’t know how, the same look he had that time when Ray was watching Stella with Orsini.

 

He takes his hand off the wheel long enough to bang his knuckles against Fraser’s leg. “You want to invade my castle with me now? We can pick up Chinese. Or Indian. Anything but pizza.”

 

Fraser clears his throat. “Ray, I’ve never wanted to ‘invade’ your life. I apologize for the intrusion the day of the eclipse—”

 

“Fraser.” Ray bangs him on the leg again. “You don’t gotta apologize for that. I was MIA; Welsh had a right to hunt me down. You did the right thing.”

 

Fraser hangs his head and scratches at his eyebrow like he doesn’t think he did the right thing.

 

Ray has to put the kibosh on that right now. “Hey. I don’t feel invaded.”

 

“Well you certainly reacted that day as if—”

 

“That was then, this is now. We’re buddies now,” Ray says, cutting to the chase. “You’re welcome at my place any time, okay? So. You want to get Chinese with me?”

 

“That would be wonderful, Ray.”

 

*****

 

Ray catches a shower while they wait for the food to show up, and by the time they’re settled on the couch with plates and chopsticks and everything, he realizes he actually feels kind of relaxed, kind of good. He’s in his own place, the bump on his head doesn’t really hurt any more, he’s not in jail—that’s the big thing—and Fraser’s here with him. Ray’s good.

 

He almost gets to the point of forgetting how this day started out, him still a prisoner in the Consulate, running on caffeine and no sleep, but trusting Fraser to pull a Get Out of Jail Free card out of his magic Stetson. He almost forgets bending over Volpe in the alley, seeing his eyes staring blankly, gone.

 

He almost forgets, until Fraser says, “Would you like to, er, that is, we were considering going to the Art Institute the other night, and…”

 

Friday evening, they were going to go to a new exhibit on some French painter that Fraser liked, special late hours on a Friday, which was usually reserved for private parties. Only then Ray called and said he couldn’t, because he had to meet Volpe.

 

Ray puts his plate down, realizing his appetite’s gone. “Yeah, sorry, Frase. I sure screwed that up, didn’t I?”

 

“No, Ray. That’s not what I meant,” Fraser says gently. “I just thought we could see the exhibit another night, that’s all. It’ll be here another month, there’s plenty of time.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Sure, then.” But Ray’s gone already, back to the alley where Volpe is lying on his back, his eyes staring but not seeing, a gold chain lying heavy on his throat and platinum hoops in his ears—he had wealth and connections and that big, gorgeous body, but no goddamn common sense—

 

—and Ray apparently doesn’t have much, either, because he was a sitting duck in that alley just like Volpe, and it could have been him.

 

Come to think of it, with the future Cahill had planned for him, it would’ve looked to Ray like Volpe got the better treatment.

 

He pushes a hand through his still-damp hair, which is gonna be sticking up in all directions later.

 

“Ray,” Fraser says. “Do you…”

 

Ray blows out a sigh.

 

“What I mean is, if you’d like to talk about it…I’m here.”

 

Ray turns his head, slow, and looks at him.

 

Fraser puts his own dinner plate down on the coffee table. It looks like he hasn’t eaten much yet, either. He meets Ray’s gaze and there’s that sad look in his eyes again, like he wants to help, but he can’t.

 

Because Ray’s not gonna let him in.

 

Something wells up in Ray then, pressure under his ribs, pushing to get out. This is the guy who makes him drive exploding cars into the lake and jump in front of bullets and bluff Internal Affairs for a detective he never met. This is also the guy who risked his life and his freedom yesterday to save Ray from wrongful imprisonment. This is the guy who put _Canada_ between Ray and the creeps who were trying to frame him.

 

Ray’s throat makes like it’s gonna close up. He fumbles for his beer on the table, gets hold of it, takes a long swallow.

 

Good.

 

“I get what you did. What you did for me. I, uh. I argued and stuff, but that was me freaking out a little. I knew right away it wasn’t really an arrest.”

 

“Well, technically it was…”

 

Ray ignored that. “It was like…what do you call that thing you do for political refugees? Granting, uh...” he snapped his fingers. Damn, the word was on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Asylum?”

 

“Yeah, that. That’s what you were doing with the handcuffs, with the warning that’s like the Miranda warning.”

 

“The Brydges caution,” Fraser says.

 

“Because you didn’t _have _to arrest me, did you?”

 

“Well, you had in fact confessed to running away from a police officer—”

 

“—who should be in the loony bin,” Ray puts in.

 

“Probably.”

 

“Who was in on it herself, even if she didn’t know what she was in on,” Ray adds.

 

“She’s been suspended pending a hearing.”

 

“Yeah. Finally. Could’ve fucking killed me.”

 

“Ray.” Fraser sounds kind of breathless.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m profoundly glad she didn’t.”

 

Ray puts his hand on top of Fraser’s without even thinking about it, squeezes hard. “You and me both, buddy.” He leaves his hand there. Fraser doesn’t seem to notice.

 

But then Fraser does notice, and he moves his hand under Ray’s and Ray thinks he’s going to take it away.

 

Only he doesn’t. He turns it over underneath Ray’s and he laces his fingers through Ray’s and he holds his hand palm to palm like more than a buddy. Like more than a brother. Like a guy who maybe knows the way Ray loves him isn’t at all symbolic and isn’t at all brotherly.

 

Like Fraser maybe _knows_…how much Ray needs this, and that Ray won’t mind. Ray feels heat creeping up under his t-shirt, but he doesn’t mind, that’s for sure.__

 

“You can tell me, Ray.”

 

See? Fraser even knows there’s something Ray wants to tell him.

 

Ray tightens his hand on Fraser’s. “Okay,” Ray says, kind of breathless himself. “Okay, yeah. So Volpe was everything I said, glue-huffing psycho, young hotshot crook trying to turf out older guys like Filion and Herndorff, Justice informant selling out to both sides, cleaning up. He was all that.”

 

“But you went to his wake and it wasn’t duty,” Fraser prompts him.

 

“Yeah, I knew him. Couple of years ago, before he was a serious hood, back when he was strictly small-time. I tried to straighten him out—” He chokes on a laugh. Straighten out. That’s a good one.

 

“I see. Like Levon Jefferson, only with Volpe you didn’t succeed?”

 

Ray laughs again and again it doesn’t sound much like a laugh. “Nothing like Levon. Levon’s a good kid. He’s only in a gang ’cause there’s no other option in his neighborhood. And you met the kid. He’s gotta be talked into hitting somebody in the ring, where that’s what you’re supposed to do. He don’t carry a piece. I had to teach the kid to box to save his own neck.

 

“Andreas is a hundred and eighty degrees different. He grew up on the South Side, too, but not in the projects. In one of those gentri—those places where the immigrants moved in and restored a slum, and then got priced right out of it.”

 

“Gentrified neighborhood?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, they made good and moved out to one of the suburbs and Andreas had everything, he went to college, he had prospects, he could’ve made something of himself that would’ve helped people, you know, not hurt them.

 

“He just…I don’t know. Maybe it was a power trip to him. Maybe it was all a game. He got into drugs, the glue and everything, which on the list of disgusting drugs to do, that is high up there. But I guess he found out he got a bigger rush from dealing, making serious money.”

 

Ray scratches his neck with his free hand, looks over at Fraser. “I think his family disowned him. I don’t think any of them were there tonight. That was all…gang friends and stuff.”

 

“It’s very sad,” Fraser says, tightening his grip on Ray’s hand. Ray can practically feel him itching to ask how Ray came into the picture, and that’s the big thing Ray has to say. He’s hoping that maybe it won’t freak Fraser so much. Fraser’s still got a hell of a grip on Ray’s hand, and it’s doing something to Ray that Fraser can maybe even feel, and Fraser seems okay with it.

 

Which that could be one of Fraser’s Canadian things, or one of his freak things. It might not be what Ray wants it to be at all. But if he trusted Fraser this morning with his life, like he trusts him every day, he can trust him with the truth.

 

“You’re a very compassionate man, Ray,” Fraser says, in a real quiet voice.

 

Ray lets a little smile steal past his lips. “Frase—it wasn’t like that. I, uh…”

 

“It was personal,” Fraser says, nodding, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“Yeah. And not like with Levon. I wasn’t a, whatchacallit, a mentor to Andreas. I just…I met him on an undercover thing I did. I know his photos don’t really show it, but he was…he was…”

 

Fraser nods like he already knows, even though he can’t. How can he?

 

“And I…he wasn’t anybody I was supposed to be busting, it was a whole different operation I was doing. I didn’t see him dealing or nothing, not at first. I’ll tell you about it some time, but…thing is, sometimes somebody’s just there, in front of you, and…they…there’s something about them…”

 

Fraser’s hand clamps down on Ray’s until he’s gotta be cutting off circulation.

 

“It was…after Stella left me. Before the divorce was final, but long after there was no chance with her. You understand?” He wills Fraser to get it.

 

Fraser does. “I understand, Ray.”

 

“There was something in his eyes,” Ray says. “That I could reach. It wasn’t just a…meaningless thing. You know. Not for me, anyway. Maybe for him.”

 

Fraser nods, and there’s something dark in his eyes, like maybe he does know. Maybe he’s got a demon or two of his own. Which, duh, Ray knows he does.

 

Fraser clears his throat. “You don’t do meaningless.”

 

“No. I don’t.” He’s glad Fraser knows.

 

Fraser looks down for a minute, then he looks back up, and his eyes are glistening. He pushes his tongue between his lips, real quick, like words want out and he’s not sure if he should let them.

 

Let them, Fraser, Ray thinks.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ray.”

 

Ray lifts their joined hands a couple of inches, makes Fraser look down at where he’s white-knuckling the feeling out of Ray’s hand.

 

“Oh!” Fraser says, and tries to loosen his grip, but now it’s Ray’s turn to hang on.

 

“It’s okay, Fraser. I’m not _mourning_ the guy, you get that? Not his death, anyway. Maybe his life…the kinda life he chose. Maybe, yeah, that I couldn’t talk him out of it.” He shrugs. “He’s just one more person that I wasn’t enough for. Like my dad. Like Stella. Like my other lieu.”

 

“I can’t imagine.”

 

“What? You know all about Dad, Stella.”

 

“But the lieutenant at the 18th? A detective with your abilities and dedication, with three citations for bravery? I don’t—”

 

Ray utters a short, harsh sound. “A fag messing up his department.” There. They’ve been talking in riddles, but now he’s said it loud and clear.

 

“Ray!”

 

“A cop who fucked a big mook with soft eyes. A big, crazy mook who turned out to be the next up-and-coming drug lord of the South Side. I could’ve had a hundred citations and the lieu would’ve wanted me out of there.”

 

“Ray!”

 

“That what you wanted to know, Fraser? Got what you came for?” Fuck. He’s being cruel. He didn’t mean to be cruel. But his throat’s tight, it’s tight like he’s holding in everything that’s gonna come bursting out if he doesn’t, and that makes him say stuff he doesn’t mean.

 

“Not even close,” Fraser says, and it’s the first time Ray’s heard him sound dangerous in a while.

 

Jesus, Ray sucks. He doesn’t want to fight _Fraser_. He doesn’t know who the hell he’s fighting, but it shouldn’t be Fraser. Ray wonders whether he could make himself go limp, like a wolf giving in to a stronger wolf. “Sorry, I’m…sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.”

 

Fraser makes a muffled sound and tugs Ray close, pulls him right into his arms. And, whoa—this close to Fraser, there’s one part of Ray that ain’t going to go limp any time soon.

 

Ray doesn’t fight any of it. He lets his head droop on Fraser’s big shoulder. Not as big as Volpe’s, but a hundred times as solid. Fraser’s a rock.

 

“I want you to know, Frase. There was no point in telling you this yesterday. My lieu maybe suspected back then, but Volpe wasn’t on the radar then, he could’ve been anybody. And the lieu—” he lifts a hand, lets it scrabble against Fraser’s sleeve for a moment. “He retired. Out of the department. I heard he moved to Hawaii or something.

 

“Andreas wouldn’t have told. He might’ve been crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. He had more to lose than I did if somebody knew.”

 

“You’re certain no one else knew?”

 

“Nobody. Anyway, it was pretty obvious yesterday they didn’t have nothing else on me. They had any more cards they would’ve played them. Double or nothing.”

 

“You’re quite right.” Fraser swallows, and it’s loud in Ray’s ear, which is really close to Fraser’s throat. “Still, you might have told me.”

 

“I couldn’t _say_ it yesterday, couldn’t get the words out. Too much, uh. Pressure. I probably would’ve exploded or something.” Ray adds a “Khssssh!” sound effect to this, and for the first time tonight he hears something really good: Fraser chuckles softly, his breath warm against Ray’s ear, sending shivers down Ray’s back. Ray’s suddenly aware of how thin his t-shirt is, and of the fact that Fraser’s hand is on his back and it’s starting to rub slow, soothing circles over the tight place between Ray’s shoulder blades.

 

“Frase, I—”

 

“Sh.” Fraser releases his hand real gently, and the feeling flows back in. It _aches_ where Fraser’s fingers were pressing. Fraser’s arms come around him and pull him in tighter against Fraser’s chest.

 

So Ray shushes. He lets his head actually rest on Fraser, and he turns his face so his nose is buried in the spot between Fraser’s neck and shoulder, and he breathes Fraser in. Ray thinks he smells kind of like a woodfire, and kind of like clothes just out of the dryer, or maybe it’s bread out of the oven, something homey and comfortable, and Ray can’t help it, he burrows in there where Fraser’s skin is warm against his face, and all of a sudden Fraser’s skin is wet and Ray’s face is wet, and he doesn’t know how that happened. He was holding it completely together just a minute ago.

 

One of Fraser’s hands is in Ray’s hair, stroking, stroking. Ray thinks he feels the whisper of Fraser’s lips on his cheek.

 

Fraser’s other hand is tracing the edge of Ray’s ear, around the curve and down, down along Ray’s jaw and chin.

 

Ray’s eyes are hot, gritty-feeling. There’s no tears left. Ray pulls back, scrambles around to wipe his nose on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

 

“Good idea, Ray,” Fraser says softly, and he helps Ray pull the shirt off over his head so Ray can get it thoroughly disgusting before throwing it on the floor. At least his nose is dry, now. He figures his eyes are still pretty red. Not that he should have to worry about hiding that; Fraser is his _partner_, and he’s seen Ray looking almost every kind of horrible there is.

 

But somehow it does matter, and Ray tilts his face away a little, wondering if there are enough shadows in his living room to do the trick.

 

Fraser’s holding Ray’s face in both his hands now, and he’s brushing his thumbs along the hollows of Ray’s cheeks, finding the tight jaw muscles and pressing just hard enough to make them let go of the fight they’re still holding in them. Sometimes Ray’s jaw is the tensest part of him, no surprise, ’cause most of his fighting is still done with words.

 

Where Fraser’s pressing it hurts, but it’s a good pain, like it’s letting more steam out of the valve. Ray lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

Fraser’s hands slide down to his chest, touching, stroking. Ray thinks the touches mean something more than what Fraser meant a minute ago. And Ray’s cock is back to hard like the crying thing never happened.

 

Fraser kind of leans over him and kisses him for real, then, on the lips. Once, quickly. Ray knows he must taste like tears and he wonders whether that’s a turn-on for Fraser, or whether Fraser’s trying to ignore it. Ray’d probably hate it, but considering the things Fraser licks it probably doesn’t bother him that much.

 

Ray looks at him. “Frase, was that—what was that?” Because, yeah, Ray’s hard, so hard his hands are shaking and his mouth is watering, but he’s never seen Fraser like this before, and he doesn’t know what’s lurking there in Fraser’s shadows.

 

Fraser looks kinda startled. “Oh, dear. I—I’m…I can’t imagine what…I’m terribly sorry, Ray. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to take advantage of your grief.”

 

“It’s all right, Fraser. Chill. I told you, I’m not mourning him. I mean, yeah, I’m not happy the guy got whacked, I didn’t want him whacked, especially in front of me like that, but you gotta understand it was gonna be hell arresting him and putting him away, too.”

 

“But your tears—?”

 

“That was just me exploding.” He makes the khssssh! sound again. “Little bitty pieces.”

 

Fraser smiles a weak smile, like he’s not sure, like Ray hasn’t convinced him.

 

“Hate to say it, but he’s better off. He would’ve fucked up a lot of people before he went away.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. I do hate to say that. What do I sound like? I sound like a psycho myself. Like some kinda Rambo, right? And I’m not, that’s not me…”

 

“Ray.”

 

“Because I don’t think the bad guys all need to be dead, I don’t think like that. I just want ’em off the streets…”

 

“Ray!”

 

“And I can’t hate, Fraser, I don’t hate, especially not somebody I ever kissed—”

 

“Ray!” Fraser grabs Ray’s face between his hands again, and all of a sudden his mouth is really, really close, but it’s not quite all the way to Ray’s. “I know you’re not Rambo,” Fraser says. “You’re not a monster. It’s human, the need to put a difficult event into perspective.”

 

Ray’s having trouble paying attention to the words, because Fraser’s lips are so close.

 

And because now Ray knows how soft they are.

 

He tilts his head back to look into Fraser’s eyes and there’s no shadows there, nothing crouching in Fraser’s psyche, waiting its moment to spring out and clobber Ray. This is _Fraser, _true-blue, partner and friend.

 

They talk over each other by accident.

 

“Fraser, you want to—”

 

“Ray, do you…would you…”

 

Ray smiles. “Kiss you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yeah, I would.”

 

Fraser doesn’t wait for him. He puts his mouth on Ray’s and he kisses him again like it’s the last thing he’s ever gonna get to do. Which it ain’t, not if Ray’s got any say in this.

 

Ray puts his hands up to grip Fraser’s arms tight, hold him there, so Ray can kiss him back.

 

Fraser makes this urgent sound, a little “Mmp!” of urgent, and his tongue’s pressing Ray’s lips, and Ray yields, letting Fraser in.

 

Fraser’s kiss is wet, hot, and messy, and he tastes so goddamn good. He’s devouring Ray, and when he’s done checking out Ray’s tonsils, he mouths Ray’s chin, licks him, kisses him all over his face. His hands are stroking Ray’s chest like he can’t get enough, and Ray’s shivering under those hands, not with cold. He feels weirdly naked even though he’s fully dressed from the waist down and his clothes are _bothering_ him, too hot, too confining.

 

When Fraser stops kissing Ray long enough to breathe, Ray leans back, and the light next to the sofa is in his eyes. It’s the only light he turned on except for the chili peppers and the light over the sink. He stretches back to shut it off. Shadows, again. But not because he needs to hide any more.

 

He reaches a hand to Fraser’s face. “Can you see in the dark, Fraser? Can you see me?” It’s suddenly really, really important.

 

“I see you, Ray. There’s no darkness in you.” Fraser says that like he knows, like he _knows_ darkness intimately. Which, if he does, is a subject for another day.

 

“You’re sure of that.”

 

“I’m sure. I _know_ you, Ray.”

 

Fraser was right about Ray yesterday. He must be right about Ray today.

 

And Ray must not have exploded after all, because he feels pressure inside him again, expanding, pushing at him, pushing him out into the light.

 

He wants that.

 

He wants Fraser to see him.

 

His clothes are in the way. He wants out of them, but he needs to be sure that’s okay with Fraser. Because Ray’s _hard_ under his clothes, so hard he wants to burst, and that’s a lot to lay on his partner, even though Fraser was kissing him like a maniac a minute ago.

 

There’s _miles_ of difference between kissing and groping and what Ray wants from Fraser right now, maybe has wanted all along.

 

He reaches for his belt, works a finger under the leather where it’s tucked into the buckle. “Can I, um…is it okay, Fraser…? He flips the strap free.

 

“God, yes!”

 

So yeah, Fraser’s sure. Ray gets out of the rest of his clothes in like two seconds. He doesn’t think he ever stripped faster in his life.

 

He’s naked, and reaching for Fraser—his hands, his mouth, his cock, all reaching for Fraser.

 

Fraser’s still completely dressed, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The pupils of his eyes are so wide and black, taking Ray in.

 

“See me, Fraser?” Ray breathes.

 

“Oh, yes, Ray. Beautiful. You are beautiful.”

 

Nobody ever called Ray that before, but it must be true, at least here in the shadows, because it’s what Fraser sees. Ray’s known for a long time Fraser sees stuff other people can’t see. Ray’s beginning to understand that Fraser sees what’s really there.

 

“Can I…may I?” Fraser’s asking.

 

Yeah,” Ray says. “Anything, Fraser. You can do anything you want.”

 

“Are you sure you feel…”

 

Ray stops him right there. “Fraser. I know _you_.”

 

Fraser kneels up on the sofa and puts his hands on Ray’s shoulders and he’s quivering, he’s shaking like he’s going to burst, too.

 

Ray leans back, back, rests his head on the padded arm of the sofa, stretches his legs out, opening them, hooking his right leg up over the back of the sofa so Fraser can kneel in between. Fraser can see all of Ray. And Fraser’s seeing, all right, looking up and down, looking at him like he can’t believe Ray is doing this.

 

Ray gestures at Fraser’s clothes. “You gonna—?”

 

“Oh. Yes.” Fraser unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it, his undershirt, too, and leans over to press his body against Ray, warm and smooth. It’s heaven.

 

And Ray was right: Fraser’s solid, he’s solider than anyone Ray ever hugged. He gets his arms around Fraser’s back and pulls him in, and now he’s pressing his cock up against Fraser’s belly and it’s even better. He thrusts up against him, slow and sure—God, so good!—and leaves slickness there.

 

“Oh! Ray.” Fraser lifts up a little. He looks down at Ray’s cock, his eyes still so wide and dark, and his tongue comes out to press along his lower lip.

 

Ray pants, tries to catch his breath a little. “Jesus, Fraser.” A guy could come just watching Fraser do that lip thing.

 

Fraser slides down and does the lip thing again, half an inch from the head of Ray’s cock. Ray thinks he’s probably going to go right out of his mind if Fraser doesn’t—

 

Fraser does. He opens his mouth and takes Ray in until he gags, then lets up a little. He wraps his mouth and his tongue around Ray and sucks him so good that Ray’s eyes roll back in his head. He’s close to forgetting his own name. If Fraser keeps this up, Ray’ll have to answer to “Hey, you!” the rest of his life. He hears somebody gasping, moaning, and realizes it’s him.

 

But Fraser pulls off gently. He licks a long stripe down the length of Ray’s cock and starts in on his balls, mouthing them and then tonguing them the same way he did to Ray’s face. Jesus, God, he _loves_ him. This is love.

 

Ray reaches for him, but Fraser’s moving down farther, pushing his tongue firmly behind Ray’s balls until Ray sees stars. Fraser’s big warm hand comes up over Ray’s cock, gripping it perfectly, and wow, yeah, stroking it like he’s been doing it for years, or maybe like he’s been wanting to that long. Which isn’t possible, but Ray can’t think about that, because Fraser’s working his free hand under Ray and pressing his hips up, and Fraser’s tongue is pressing lower, and then it’s stroking over his asshole and pressing _in_ and Ray’s _gone_. Every muscles in his body seizes up in pleasure and his cock pulses in Fraser’s hand and he’s coming, he’s coming in Fraser’s hand, between Fraser’s fingers, and all over his own belly.

 

Fraser’s quick. He licks up over Ray’s balls and over his cock to the head, and he takes Ray in for the half second that Ray can stand it, and when Ray squirms because it’s too intense, he lets him go and laps the come off Ray’s belly, swirling his tongue in the soft hair there like a cat.

 

Then he’s up, wiping his mouth carefully with those strong, thick fingers before he leans in to kiss Ray again.

 

Ray eventually gets his wits back and realizes Fraser still has his pants on, for Pete’s sake. He scrabbles at Fraser’s waistband, pops the button open. “C’mon, c’mon.”

 

Fraser shakes himself out of his stupor, or whatever that was, and helps. He peels his jeans and his boxers off with one hand and kicks out of his socks.

 

Ray’s all cramped on the sofa; his back may never recover, but he doesn’t really care. He’s running his hands down Fraser’s big, smooth chest, down to his perfect-V waist and his narrow, muscular hips. Jesus, the guy’s like a sculpture. Ray grips Fraser’s thighs, loving the muscles firm under his hands, and looks at him. Fraser’s cock is flushed red, so dark, like it’s blushing, and the thought makes Ray smile, because, yeah, if cocks can blush, Fraser’s would.

 

But Fraser’s smiling, too, he’s digging Ray looking at his blushing cock, and how cool is that? Ray lets out a soft laugh. He props himself up on his elbow and wraps his hand around Fraser’s cock, and it’s thick and hard in his hand. He feels the strong pulse under his thumb. Which, wow, ’cause the pulse is on the underside, and you can’t feel it like that unless you’re holding another guy, and it’s been so long since Ray had his hand around another guy’s cock. Not since Volpe, and that was _nothing_ compared to this.

 

That was shadows. This is _light_.

 

Ray rubs his thumb firmly up along the underside and feels the shivers chase themselves over Fraser’s whole body. Fraser pulls in a raspy breath, like he can’t help it. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and his mouth— Jesus!—If Michelangelo’d ever sculpted a mouth, a face, like that he’d have smashed all his other work and died happy, so it’s a good thing he never did.

 

Ray’s free hand is halfway to Fraser’s mouth before he realizes it. His fingers flutter over Fraser’s lips, and suddenly they’re inside, Fraser sucked them in. Fraser’s tongue swirls around them, hot and wet.

 

No way is Ray’s cock gonna succeed in getting going again, not for a little while yet, but it twitches hard, like it’s trying.

 

Ray’s stroking Fraser’s cock, the skin’s loose and slidey, more than Ray’s, because Fraser’s not cut. Ray varies his grip till he finds the one that makes Fraser’s mouth go slack around Ray’s fingers. He stiffens his first two fingers like a hard cock and presses them gently against Fraser’s tongue, thrusting in and out and in.

 

Fraser’s eyes snap open. “Ray!” he mumbles around Ray’s fingers.

 

Holding his gaze, Ray pulls his fingers free and puts them between his own legs, lifting his balls, pressing them in. Showing Fraser what he wants.

 

Fraser’s jaw drops. “Ray!” His big vocabulary’s down to the one word.

 

Ray grins. “You want to?”

 

Fraser’s cock swells thicker in Ray’s hand and leaks silky wetness onto Ray’s thumb. Oh, yeah. He wants to. Ray’s smile widens.

 

“Ray! I…you…are you…”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“We couldn’t…how do you…how does one go about…”

 

So Fraser hasn’t thought about this, huh? Ray has, though. Ray’s thought about it probably way more than he should have, considering he wasn’t sure until tonight that Fraser’d ever do this with him.

 

Fraser swallows kind of hard. Like he really, really wants to, but he doesn’t dare.

 

Fuck that. Ray’s never seen a building Fraser won’t leap off of. Guy’d probably jump out of a plane if he had the chance—without a parachute. And, knowing him, he'd survive it. Putting his cock inside Ray is _nothing_ compared to the stuff Fraser dares every day on the job.

 

And Ray wants this so bad his mouth’s watering again. He rubs his thumb up over the head of Fraser’s cock again, making Fraser gasp and squirm.

 

“Frase?”

 

“Anything you want, Ray,” Fraser says, only he says it like it’s all one word: anythingyouwantRay.

 

Ray likes that word a lot.

 

He lets go of Fraser and urges him up off the couch, pushes him gently toward the bedroom. He’s got slick in the night table. The condoms in there have got to be expired, but he and Fraser are obviously nothing but low-risk, and fuck it, they jump off of buildings and drive cars into lakes.

 

Ray puts the reading light on and shoves the covers down without looking. He rummages in the drawer for the slick, then turns and presses the bottle into Fraser’s palm.

 

Fraser’s still got kind of a shellshocked look on his face.

 

“I want you, Fraser,” Ray tells him. “You want me?”

 

“Oh, yes, Ray.” And it’s on his face, all he’s not saying, and Ray can read it so clearly even without his glasses.

 

“Then let’s rock and roll.” He pulls Fraser down onto the bed with him.

 

Fraser’s looking at the lube like it could possibly be weirder than one of his pregnant-whatever concoctions, which it could not. Ray reaches over and flicks the spout up, motions for Fraser to spill some into Ray’s hand.

 

The lube is cool, but all it needs is a couple seconds between Ray’s fingers. He slicks himself up good, then reaches for Fraser’s cock. “Put more on you. Lots of it, they say use lots of it.”

 

“They say? Don’t you—haven’t you…?” It’s amazing how Fraser can tell an Inuit story for hours, but when he’s getting laid he can’t finish a sentence. Ray loves that.

 

Ray shook his head, smiling. “Nah. Never did it before.”

 

Fraser looks a question at him.

 

Ray shakes his head. “I didn’t trust him. Not enough for that.” He swallows, kind of hard. “I know I said it wasn’t meaningless sex, and it wasn’t. But I didn’t love him. I, uh, I wanted to, you know? I wanted to fix him, too. But he had shadows, he had that darkness in him that I couldn’t shine enough light on.”

 

“Ray!” Fraser’s breathless again. “Are you saying—?”

 

“Yeah. I’m saying.”

 

“Ray! Not…symbolically?”

 

Ray grins. “Not symbolically, Frase.”

 

“So this isn’t about—?”

 

“It ain’t about Volpe, it ain’t about grief, it ain’t about nothing except you and me.”

 

“I’m glad,” Fraser says, swallowing, and whaddya know, he finished a sentence.

 

“You gonna fuck me?” See, Fraser? Ray hasn’t changed, he’s still the most impatient son of a bitch ever created.

 

“Oh, God, yes.” Fraser squeezes out some more lube and slicks up his cock. Ray watches a long shudder go through him as the cool stuff touches him. Then Fraser leans down over Ray and puts his mouth on Ray’s cock again, just a reminder, and Ray feels it twitch and think about waking up.

 

Fraser kneels between Ray’s legs, kind of in the same position they were in on the couch, only ten times more comfortable, and braces himself over Ray. He lowers himself, doing one push-up, and kisses him until Ray’s totally out of breath.

 

Then he’s up and trying to figure out how to fit Tab A into Slot C, and Ray’s showing Fraser how flexible a skinny guy can be, curling himself up to hook one leg over Fraser’s arm and the other around his waist.

 

“Touch me,” Ray gasps.

 

Fraser does more than that, he tongues Ray’s cock again, which is now thinking seriously about reviving, and he kisses Ray’s balls, and they are perking up, too, and then—wham! Fraser’s tongue is poking against his asshole again, and Ray’s right back where he was before, moaning and whimpering and so close to begging it’s embarrassing.

 

He’d turn himself inside out for Fraser if he could.

 

Fraser’s tongue spears him once, twice, and Ray’s eyes roll back in his head, so he doesn’t see the moment when Fraser presses his cock against his asshole. But “Jesus, God—fuck!” He feels it, all right. It doesn’t hurt, not really, it’s just kind of overwhelming, but he wants it so much that—

 

He has to _think_ about it before he remembers how to get his eyes open, and what he sees almost drives him out of what’s left of his mind. Fraser’s above him, muscular and gorgeous, with his hair curling up from sweat and his face like an angel’s but all flushed, and he’s totally, completely focused on pushing his big, hard cock into Ray.

 

Ray wants to break apart with joy. He pushes back, bearing down, not fighting it—going for it, going toward it. He’s one big Yes to this moment. He’s one big Yes to Fraser, and he always has been. Ray goes on instinct, and the very first instinct he had about Fraser made him walk up and throw his arms around the guy.

 

He should’ve known right then.

 

Fraser hasn’t changed, either; he’s still pushing Ray, still pushing into Ray. He never put his cock in him before, but he’s been pushing Ray from the beginning, making him go that extra mile, making him _care_ again, making him feel like they actually make a difference.

 

Ray’d gone from burned-out cop to walking in the sky in a single week, and he never looked back.

 

“Oh, God, Ray!” Fraser’s panting hard, pushing, and then he’s _in_, his chest’s heaving, and Ray’s broken wide open, but he’s more than he was before, because Fraser’s inside him, all the way.

 

“Are you all right, Ray?”

 

“_Oh_, yeah.” Ray’s grinning like a maniac. Sweat’s dripping down his hairline and springing out on his chest, and his hips are aching, ’cause he’s flexible, but he’s not Gumby. Still, he doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t fucking care if he can’t walk tomorrow, if he can’t walk ever again.

 

Fraser’s pulling out a little now and pushing back in, carefully, and Ray feels himself opening a little more with each thrust, no matter which direction. “Yeah. Do me, Fraser. So good, God, I should have known.”

 

“You…did…guess,” Fraser pants, and there’s a smug little smile hovering on his lips. It’s familiar, that smile. Ray just saw it yesterday…oh, Jesus. The files in the trousers. The striptease moves.

 

“How long you been onto me?” Ray demands, just before Fraser thrusts again and practically whacks him into the headboard. He grins and braces himself for the next one.

 

Fraser gives it to him, hard and fast and so damn good that Ray’s cock seriously perks up and starts getting hard again for real.

 

“Wasn’t sure…until this…weekend,” Fraser says. He changes the angle of his hips and thrusts again, and there’s no more talking, because Fraser’s cock is touching a place inside Ray that just lights him up from inside.

 

And Ray is writhing, he’s shouting, he’s clinging to Fraser like he’ll never let go, and he probably won’t, but Fraser seems to be all over that.

 

It’s like Fraser figured out how to turn on the light in the deepest, darkest part of Ray. Ray’s sobbing again, he can’t help himself, but it’s not with tears like before, no, this pressure’s gonna give in the best way, the best of all possible ways.

 

Fraser’s thrusts get harder and shorter, his balls pressing up against Ray’s ass. He wraps his strong hand around Ray’s cock and works it perfectly, and Ray can’t take any more, it’s done, and Ray’s shooting off like the fourth of July, bang! bang! bang! bang! bright and hot and beautiful.

 

Fraser’s all over him, _gathering_ him up in his arms, pushing into him one more time, so deep, then Fraser goes completely still and lets out one long sigh that sounds like he’s been holding it in all his life.

 

Fraser’s heavy. It’s only when Ray shakes himself awake that he gets that he dozed off for a few minutes, and Fraser must have, too, because he starts and he pushes himself up off Ray fast.

 

Ray’s all creaky and stiff and sore, but he doesn’t mind a bit, and when Fraser eases off him and out of him he seems to figure it out. He rubs out the pain in Ray’s hips and his lower back with expert hands.

 

Ray’s okay, jeez, he boxes, he can take a few sore muscles. He catches up one of Fraser’s hands and kisses it, laughing.

 

“I’m so glad, Ray. So glad.”

 

Fraser’s making even less sense than usual, but Ray gets him. And Ray can speak the same language—go figure. “Walking in the sky,” he tells Fraser. “I’m walking in the sky with you.”

 

Fraser nods, really serious.

 

“We’re a couple of freaks.”

 

Fraser grins kind of crookedly. “So I’m reliably informed.”

 

Ray grins right back at him. “So we’re good, then.”

 

“We are good.” Fraser rolls onto his side and pulls Ray gently close and kisses him lazily, and Ray kisses him back. He doesn’t close his eyes, and neither does Fraser.

 

Ray’s eyesight probably still sucks in the daylight, but here in the half-dark with Fraser he has perfect vision. Because when Ray looks through Fraser’s eyes, there’s no dark any more.

 

What Fraser sees, that’s what’s really there. And what Fraser sees is Ray.

 

 

—end—

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to AuKestrel, for a kickass 11th-hour beta and handholding, as ever.  
> Written for the [ds_flashfiction First-Line Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_flashfiction/tag/first-line+festival). First line taken from sageness's powerful Gloriaverse story, [The Longest Year](http://sageness.com/longestyear.htm).


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